


how absurdly simple!

by svpportive



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Drabbles, Epistolary, Ficlets, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Prompt Fill, Retirement, Sussex, every side character makes at least one cameo i think, gay people, i have run out of things i could tag this i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svpportive/pseuds/svpportive
Summary: some prompt fills from tumblr, assembled and collected here for my own consumption. but you can read them too.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. an accidental declaration

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is for my tumblr mutuals hell yeah these wouldnt exist without em <3 anyways these gay people ficlets are rough and only really lightly edited but regardless im pretty proud of them, and i hope u enjoy ! i might add more, but only time will tell when.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #20: things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear_

In my publications of the cases I undertake with Sherlock Holmes, I often speak of the long nights that regularly come with the process of detecting and identifying some criminal or the other. I do not exaggerate the frequency of these lengthy twilight vigils - if anything I underreport them - and I had by the time of this recollection been well accustomed to the uncomfortably cold circumstances of a night in which I had resigned myself to crouching in some stable or alleyway that smelled of every unholy thing in the world put together. In those early days before he had become the household name he was now, many of our nights had been spent in this fashion.

Thankfully in this particular instance, the smell was not too bad, for we were in a shop that sold perfumes, lying in wait for some criminal who would soon be breaking in to supposedly exact his revenge. Or at least that was what I had surmised from the little Holmes had told me over the past few days. In any case, it was enough for me to feel grateful for my service revolver’s familiar weight within my coat.

Holmes, beside me underneath the counter, rose a long finger to his mouth and shushed me.

“I wasn’t saying anything!” I whispered back, a touch indignant.

This time the finger had an accompanying  _ shush _ ing noise. Helped undoubtedly by the ridiculousness of the situation, I resorted to childish behavior and noiselessly stuck my tongue out at him instead. We were so close, and huddled together as we were my tongue almost touched his cheek.

“Watson,” my friend tsked, and something about his terseness brought a chuckle out of me.

“This is the third consecutive day we have hidden ourselves this way, Holmes. What exactly are we waiting for?”

“That will come in time! Now hush!”

I quieted, but after a long moment passed in which still nothing happened, I deemed it safe to push, “You could at least gain something in explaining  _ some _ of the details to me, old chap.”

“Impatient are we?”

I rolled my head back, knocking it lightly against the wood of the desk. “Dreadfully.”

He rolled his eyes, but I could tell that I had amused him by the touch of his tongue to his teeth. I had trained myself to look for such details, in the three short years I had known him for so far.

“If I lay it all before you now, my dear Watson, I would have nothing to beguile you with later, and then what excitement would you have to spur you into following me into danger?”

Just then a large  _ thud _ came from above, inconveniently but simultaneously timed, as I had just blurted in a whisper,

“You ridiculous man, I would follow you through anything!”

In the moment, there was nothing to be done about my statement, that at the time had felt like pulling my heart from my sleeve off and on display for him. His expression too, usually so well guarded, was undisguised and seemed to me a mix of shock and awe, and I myself was bowled over just seeing this great feeling flit across his face.

And then all of it was gone, besides the specific glint in his eye that I have since come to treasure now that it is much more familiar to me, “Come, Watson, we will address it later.” He then offered me his hand, and we unfolded from under our hiding place and into action.


	2. a graceful distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #9: things you said when i was crying_

I have long drawn a veil in my writings when I talk about my experience in Her Majesty’s service overseas, and have equally never gone fully into detail about how I coped with that experience upon regaining my civilian status. That I had been wounded irreparably and returned to England’s shore penniless and friendless I have recounted, but other than a few statements that I recorded myself saying to Holmes upon our introduction about not having the constitution for rows or loud noises, I have been largely mute on the subject of the mental strain I was under for the first couple months at the time.

I was grateful that I did not suffer as other acquaintances of mine did - I was largely functional, and other than my initial reliance on drink and a slight gambling vice, my recovery progressed as any wound does, gradually but surely. My new lodger, Sherlock Holmes, strange character that he was, kept my mind occupied, at first with his mysterious occupation and quirks and then with the adventures that he would regularly allow me to accompany him on. I began to grow less weary and anxious over what would to anyone else be minutiae, and while my leg and shoulder would still pain me I was beginning not to begrudge myself my injuries and weaknesses as much as I once did.

The only hiccup to my recovery lay in my nightmares. They had reduced in frequency, but every so often, as much as twice a week, I would be held captive, and forced to relive those horrific memories of war and fever I wished I never had made in the first place. When it was finally over, I would be held in place, my heart still rushing, and in the dark of the night with Baker Street as quiet as it will ever be, the tears would come unbidden, a human expression of the stress on my suddenly overwrought nerves.

It was in this state, awoken by such a night terror, that my new acquaintance found me that night. He had opened my door apropos to nothing, as if it was not three hours past midnight, to find me in my hot tears. Filled with shame at his suddenly witnessing me like this, I could say nothing but watched as he slowly closed the door behind him, and crept closer to sit next to me on the bed.

“My dear fellow, are you alright?”

I wiped my nose, unfortunately, on the bed sheet. “I’m perfectly alright, Holmes. Did I disturb you?” The thought that my cries had awoken him nearly sprung new tears in my eyes out of sheer embarrassment.

“No no, on the contrary - I was hoping to disturb  _ you _ .”

“What?”

He looked down at me, and I could see the cogs of machinery turning within his mind as he appraised me. I was yet again overcome with mortification, knowing he was at once cataloguing my weakness.

He did not react in a way that showed this however, merely making room further for himself on the bed. I moved aside slightly to give him some space, and he shuffled himself beside me before leaning back on the bedpost. “I have had an idea for another monograph, but the pieces are not all clear to me yet. I would greatly benefit from a listening ear, so that I may sort out the appropriate and important details before I dare set anything to paper. Would you mind obliging me, Watson?”

I looked up at him with some surprise. “Of course, my dear Holmes.”

“Thank you. Now, I hope to start off with the derivatives found within those sites deemed historically relevant to the late Roman Empire.” He began talking, and did not stop for quite some time. By then I had slowly and surely fallen into a peace sleep once more, contented by his graceful distraction.


	3. an all too quiet retirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #6: things you said under the stars and in the grass_

When we had first made the move from the bustling marketplace of London to the slow, steadying and tranquil Sussex Downs, I will admit that I had my doubts over the longevity of our plans. My dear Holmes, despite all his claims of taking up apiculture and his other hobbies that would supposedly keep him occupied, was not a still man. I had therefore been uncertain, knowing how easily it was for him to drop from simple boredom to a caustic melancholy. I was fearful that the charms of country living would not wholly occupy him, and that by retiring and departing from our well known city we were setting ourselves up for future misery.

Still, I loved the man, and had long resigned myself to being unable to resist following him where he went, so move to the country we did. Holmes, I found, did not slip into one of his dark moods as I had feared, but seemingly shone all the more brighter in our little cottage, where we were alone for the first time to do whatever with our time what we wished, with no clients or staff or Mrs. Hudson to interrupt. Months passed, in this happy and peaceful way, but there was slight ache left in my chest, though I could not place what it was. Holmes was happy, and therefore I was happy, and yet still the ache remained.

Which was why it was of course, convenient that I had chosen the world’s only consulting detective for a life partner, for he was able to identify my feelings long before I had processed them.

We were in the garden - or what will one day hopefully grow into a garden, if I had my way. The patch I had been tiring over all afternoon now passed my inspection, and I had brought Holmes outside to view my progress. This had somehow led to kissing, and some roughhousing, and we now lay in the grass beside it, our mouths red and the sun long since completed her descent.

I looked up at the stars making their first appearances of the night, contently listening to mine and his breaths in line with each other, and felt him turn to study me.

“You miss London.”

He said it matter of factly, as he often does when he pulls words from behind my heart where I could not see them. As such, there was no use denying it.

“I did not think I would. I longed for the peace of the country, and I am grateful for it, but-”

“But it is so quiet.”

“Yes! I did not think I would miss it - the crush of people, the dirty air, the daily cacophony that never truly ended - and yet here I am, missing those very inconveniences that drove me out of the city in the first place!”

“However those inconveniences, as you call them, were what characterized your home for many years. We spent the greater part of our lives in London, it is no wonder she still has some hold on you.”

I nodded, contrite. “Do you not miss it?”

“Of course I do. But I have found that being here with you, in this position where I can see you, and kiss you, solely lit by the moon and her stars, is a chance I would never get otherwise, and in that case I would gladly give London up.” He looked away from me then, and back up at the stars, as he is not one for such bald declarations. Only for me does he allow himself to be so openly vulnerable.

I smiled and edged myself closer to him on the grass. The ache began to fade, as I conceded his point. “I believe I feel the same.”


	4. an unsent letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #15: things you said with too many miles between us_

_ My dear Watson, _

_ How I miss you. With this being the first sturdy enough paper that I have found in weeks, and the knowledge that the fire will read these words before you ever get a chance to, I can finally confess this. I miss you desperately, my dear man, from your comforting cinnamon scent to your witty retorts, to the way your mustache looks when you are trying to hold in a laugh during an inopportune moment. I miss your face awash with the sunlight while you squint helplessly against it. I miss the way your eyes dance when Mrs. Hudson scolds me for something you have already reprimanded me for, and I miss the frown you give me when I (rightly) disparage a Yarder. I miss the kindness that leaks out of your every motion, and the way you are the most resilient man in my acquaintance, always standing up once more after whatever blow has been dealt to you last. _

_ I miss your steadying presence by my side. _

_ Here, in these pages that will never reach you, I can finally say these things that have been secreted in the recesses of my mind for the past decade since I first met you at Stamford’s hand in that laboratory at St. Bart’s. I have never breathed a word of this to you - I have never dared - but how fortunate was I, to have met you when I did! I don’t know where I would be, Watson, if you had not decided to take a chance on the madman before you, but I count myself luckier than most for your having done so. While I know you may consider it the opposite case, it is you after all who have guided me to the heights my career had grown to. _

_ All this, I hoped to convey one day, my friend. If not how much that appreciation had given way to love, but at least my gratitude for your place in my life as it is. Now that that chance has been robbed of me, I can only hope you felt it all the same. _

_ I have heard little of how you are coping. Mycroft refuses to give me particulars beyond the vague update that you have moved out of our rooms and into new apartments, but says little else. I believe he fears that if I knew the true details of how you have come to terms with my death, I would be inspired to do something fairly rash. He is undoubtedly right, although that will not stop me from demanding them all the same. You are resilient, John, and I know that you will endure the hardship of losing your odd old friend with grace, and be able to move on more rapidly than you may believe.  _

_ But I will confess, here if nowhere else - to hear the depth of your care for me in your mourning does fill give me some assurance.  _

_ Because if I can complete my mission, and remove the traces of that devil Moriarty from the face of this planet for good, I have promised myself to convey these feelings to you one day myself. All of it. In the months that I have been away from you, I have imagined many times taking your beloved face in my hands and telling you your true meaning to me, and it has been my only solace, and my main motivation for seeing this business through till the end. I have no idea what the fallout may be, but I would like to say that when my time on this mortal plane is truly over, that I did not die this time as a coward. _

_ I am always and forever will be, _

_ Very sincerely yours, _

_ Sherlock Holmes _


	5. a thoughtless comment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #17: things you said that i wish you hadn’t_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is either too long or too short. haven't decided yet, ill be back later for it. anyways chime off if u see this before i take it down when ive edited it lmao !

From my writings, I would have some believe that I am a rather soft spoken man, and as I harbor a disdain for rows, that I was a man who was frequently forgiving. While the last one held a kernel of truth - I would not be the  _ long _ suffering roommate of one Sherlock Holmes if I wasn’t otherwise - this image of me is largely an exaggeration, one undoubtedly heightened by the creative liberties my editor and I, have taken over the years.

But make no mistake - I have never denied that I too was capable of holding a grudge when necessary, and I was well aware of when a boundary had been crossed.

As I stewed in my room behind the locked door in my old room upstairs, reduced to pacing the once-familiar floorboards, I felt all at once firm yet wavering in my decision to erect a boundary between me and Holmes.

We had had an argument, one that seems to be up to the brim with immaturity as I look over this memory years later, but had been all-encompassing at the time. Holmes had for the past week been caught up in the solving of a series of high profile kidnappings around central London, and as is his custom in cases that required a great deal of his attention and focus, had forgone food and sleep for almost the entire duration. Plead as I may, he had not conceded, preferring to snipe at me with grand titles such as “ _ nuisance _ ” and “ _ nursemaid _ ” instead, until of course this morning, while delivering the production that was presenting the last piece of information to Lestrade, he dropped into a faint out of sheer exhaustion.

I was very worried of course. I haven’t had to witness Holmes collapse in such a manner since that little event that found him telegraphing me from a hotel in Lyons, a lifetime ago. This was the first case of such caliber so soon after his apparent resurrection some few months past, and therefore the first time in some time that I had seen him work himself up to such a degree. He had been thin ever since his return, and now was even more so. As such, I took every precaution.

Which in turn served to irritate Holmes to no end, as with the case now finished I ordered that he be put on bedrest. He had refused to speak to me for the first day, no matter my pleading and explaining, but it was what he had broken his silence on the second day that was ultimately damning.

I had opened his window, waking him to bring his breakfast in lieu of Mrs. Hudson (who he had banned from entering the room), when I heard, amongst his grumbling, “-acting as if I am yet again on my deathbed.”

I felt chilled to the bone almost immediately. My hand on his arm slackened, and although he all at once realized what he had just said, I allowed myself to pull free of him.

I cleared my throat, and took a deep breath. “Well here is your breakfast, Holmes, I’ll leave you to it.” I ignored his cries, and steadfastly walked up the stairs to my old room. 

He had followed me up, quick on my heels but not quick enough to make it inside. And now for the last twenty minutes I have been pacing about, and ignoring his near constant protestations from behind the door.

“It slipped ou, truly! I did not mean to suggest anything by it, I promise, my dear. Open the door, Watson!”

The last he had said not as a cry or a plea, as its like had been, rather in the forceful tone of a Holmes giving an order. All at once my anger was piqued again, and I marched to open the door and tell him where exactly he could shove his order. When I ripped the door open, to my surprise he did not look mad or imperious or imperiously mad at all.

Holmes breathed a sigh of relief and took a step over the doorway to stand close to me, and put a hand on my shoulders. “My dear boy, thank goodness. Please allow me to apologize, I did not mean it in the slightest.”

My anger faded to a mere ember, his touch and his sincere apology moving me. However the seeds for a fire were still present, and I stepped away from his hand on my arm “That’s my concern, Holmes, that you do not know exactly what you meant. It may not be the case for you, but for me it is much too soon to be making light of your death. It was one of the most traumatic episodes of my life, and even with you present and mortal with me yet again, I am still recovering from it. Forgive me for not wanting to provoke your next untimely demise by keeping you as healthy and hale before my eyes as I can.”

Holmes’ expression was much sobered. “I understand, Watson, and I am deeply sorry. It was a wholly thoughtless comment. I understand that there is still work to be done in my returning fully to you.”

I nodded stiffly, but perceptive as he was he could read that I had already forgiven him, my anger doused. He took it as liberty to step forward once again, and take my hand. This time, I allowed him. “All I can do is do my best to control my conceit and my wrath while you take better care of me than I perhaps deserve.”

I pulled away from the kiss, and accepted his apology for what it was.

“That’s all I can ask, my dear Holmes.”


	6. a silent shared laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #23: things you said [while trying not to laugh]_

A little known fact about Sherlock Holmes is that he is near impossible to make eye contact with while in a police station. It is not that one cannot catch his eye - no that is in fact the opposite of the problem. The problem is that once I meet his gaze as he makes an effort to make sure I do, he then attempts to distract me so thoroughly that I have some difficulty in maintaining my end of the conversation with some officer or another, caught up instead in the thoughts he is attempting to wordlessly beam into my head.

This was not one of the greatest minds of our time for nothing - Holmes possessed a repertoire of facial expressions, each conveying different moods, from a discreetly mouthed word while Gregson droned on, to a lewd quirk of his lip that was positively dangerous to employ at Scotland Yard of all places. On this occasion, it was poor constable Hopkins who’s expense it was when Holmes called away my attention.

We had been called to the Yard to see Lestrade, having scheduled to meet with him at 2pm sharp. However, on arriving we were told that he had not yet returned from the field, so we sat here at the bench, I watching the goings ons of the officers while an errant Holmes grumbled about tardiness, as if he had always been prompt his whole life. It was in the face of this boredom that he acquiesced to look over the young upstart’s progress in an ongoing burglary case.

Hopkins was a bright fellow, and on the few occasions that we have had chance to work together so far, Holmes himself had said so, claiming that the personable officer would go far. Yet, he had become somewhat of a personal joke between me and my friend, as Hopkins was a great follower of Holmes’ methods to the point of near hero-worship, and my impression of the constable’s earnest overeagerness never failed to make my Holmes hide a chuckle with a scowl.

It was as I watched Hopkins animatedly explain the details of his investigation, my eyes rose to meet with Holmes, who was already staring at me, laughter in his eyes. I had no choice but to make a gesture with my hand, that called back the one that I often did when attempting to sound like Stanley Hopkins. Delightfully, this startled Holmes into a giggle, one which he just barely managed to mask as a cough. This, and the sincere tone in which Hopkins then asked if he wanted any water nearly threatened to make me fall into laughter as well.

“Something amusing, Doctor?”

Lestrade’s voice broke into my thoughts, and I straightened immediately. When I finally had chance to look at him again, Holmes returned to my side, and gave me a private smirk before we got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this ones slightly at his expense but NO HOPKINS SLANDER!!!!


	7. a sleepy cadenza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #12: things you said when you thought i was asleep_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this doesnt technically answer the prompt well then mind ur own business <3

It is near impossible to describe a dark and stormy night as anything else, and this I had long since determined as I sat at the dingy little desk the country inn had offered, and attempted to set down at least some of my recollections of the night, in order to transform them into a story worthy of print some day. It was impossible to accomplish anything however, with the wind howling up and around our tiny building in a horrifying fashion.

This dichotomy thus explained, it comes as no surprise that my dear Holmes had managed to find sleep through it all, on the solitary bed that we had been told was the only one available for the night. I did not blame him fully - the case he had just solved this morning, and it had been a tough indeed, leading at one point to us digging a hole by ourselves to prove a theory. He hadn’t slept at all the night before either, so it goes to figure that after his victory there was nothing stopping him from finally allowing his body to rest, not even the tumultuous weather outside.

I closed my papers. Even without the noise, I was too tired myself to get any further work done, and the candle that I had been flickering dangerously for quite a while now. I prepared for bed as quietly as I could, though I knew there wasn’t much chance of waking Holmes. He is a light sleeper in most cases, rising due to the slightest freak of the floorboards, but when he has exhausted himself this thoroughly it usually led to his flame being fizzled out somewhat for a few days, and his guard was more or less lowered when it came to my company.

I stretched myself out on my side of the bed attempting to get comfortable, when Holmes shifted slightly in his sleep, turning toward me. His hands came to rest on my left arm beside him, and he pulled himself closer, almost unconsciously.

“Holmes,” I whispered, but he remained deeply asleep.

I relaxed once more, but two minutes later was roused once again, by Holmes uttering one word. “ _ John, _ ”

It was the first time I could remember him saying my first name, and a shudder ran through me unbidden. Holmes, unaware, slept on.

“Holmes?” I hazarded a whisper.

He still did not stir, but he reached out then, to grab hold of my arm, and then did the strangest thing. Seemingly in his sleep, my friend brought himself closer to my person and proceeded to bury his face into my shoulder. “ _ John _ ,” I heard once again, muffled by my nightclothes.

Holmes remained still after that, and after a couple of minutes of feeling him snore delicately, I in turn relaxed, and exhaustion seeped in once more. I resolved to wake up early, to save my dear friend the embarrassment, but for now I was content to leave him be.


	8. a triumphant toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt #21: things you said when we were on top of the world_

Few things in life, I have realized, compare to the high of being on a case with my good friend Sherlock Holmes. Witnessing his great gift, and watching as he almost effortlessly weaved the tapestry of the particulars of a case before our very eyes, was an experience like nothing else, and the adventures and misadventures assembling each of these particulars was the highlight of my years with him. However, even better than helping him solve a great case was the time directly after it, when my dear Holmes absolutely glittered with triumph, and was in such high spirits that it made him feel untouchable. And by sheer virtue of being by his side, so was I.

That afternoon was one such instance, as Holmes had solved the theft of some potentially scandalous and disastrous letters, preventing a malignant blackmailer. We had found the culprit just as he was about to board a transatlantic ship, but my revolver’s aim hadn’t failed me yet, and we were able to bring the man to justice before he was out of reach. Together, we had brought the man back to Lestrade and Scotland Yard, leaving us free to spend the rest of the evening celebrating our success. These were still our early days, which meant the reward money was spent almost immediately on the treat of a rare and special dinner at Romano’s, as well as tickets to a show later.

Holmes’ eyes shone as he recounted yet again the case we had just closed, and he dramatized the way in which my bullet grazing the suspect’s arm and allowed us to take him into custody. He was talkative, like this, on the high of using his talents to bring a problem to fruition. All night he had been glowing and at his most charming, and I could not take my eyes off him. This, his enthusiasm while narrating my participation, and the wine he had requested specifically to pair with our meal had worked to turn my cheeks positively rosy.

“You know, Watson, there is no one I would rather have by my side in such a moment. Your cooperation today was most valuable.”

“Thank you, Holmes,” said I, more touched than I could convey at the time. My friend was not one to dole out praise unless its subject was very worthy, and so those small words were much treasured. “It was a pleasure to be by your side, throughout.”

As if he could hear my thoughts - and I have no doubt that somehow, sometimes, he could - my friend merely smiled genially, and rose his glass to touch it to mine, which was still at my lips. “And to be by yours, my trusted partner.”


	9. a frustrated vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt: hurt/comfort + a missing heiress???_

It had been a grueling day. The attempts to locate the missing heiress had been at that point going on for four days, with not much in the way of clues. I could no more make bricks from what clay we were given than my talented friend could, and so the both of us sat on this night, dejected before the fire, hoping in vain that Lestrade would appear on the stair at any moment to offer some new development.

The bell remained unrung however, and Holmes once more sighed into his pipe. He had given his last statement, and as we were barred from joining the police raid we were condemned here instead, restless as to whether the information proved true. I felt helpless, unaware of how to offer him any comfort when I was in the same position of helpless waiting as he was.

As the man’s fellow lodger for more than a decade now, I was well accustomed to his array of bad moods. I was thankful that this one meant that rather than his cherrywood pipe he chose his chestnut, meaning that I would not be subject to the diatribe as he worked through his own unforgiving frustration with himself. However that meant the alternative - my love was instead silent to a degree that worried me, and I could no more see him irritated than I could see him genuinely despondent.

I leaned forward in my chair opposite him, and put a hand on his knee. He looked up from the fire, and upon gaining his attention I gave him a careful smile. “Holmes, you must not blame yourself. All will go as you say.”

He merely _tsked_ at me, though he did not move my hand. “If I had only been quicker in realizing the valet’s intentions, we would not be in this position, and the girl would already have been reunited with her family. Now it is a question of whether she is still dead, or worse.”

“That is an exaggeration, Holmes, and you know it.”

“I do not  _ know _ anything, Watson. That much has been proven tonight.” He stood up abruptly, and leaned against the mantel imperiously, the picture of frustration. “All that remains is for Lestrade to return and tell me how greatly this mistake has cost us.”

I stood up as well. “Well, I disagree. I think you conducted yourself as anyone would given the details you were, and in fact you expedited the rescue of the girl tenfold.”

“ _ Pah _ ,” he had to say in reply.

“You have done all you can, my dear, and there is nothing else but to hope that all comes to fruition.” I moved closer, and taking his hand in mine, brought him to the table, where Mrs. Hudson had laid supper some two hours ago. It had been untouched since, but I set about arranging and opening the plates anyhow. Somehow, he allowed me to guide him.

“Something small, is all I ask. It will give Mrs. Hudson leave of a lecture,” said I, before he could protest.

Despite himself, Holmes’ lip curled, “Food has only ever brought comfort to you, Watson, not me.” Still, he picked up a fork and began pushing around the contents of his plate.

“Regardless, Holmes, I believe some food will do wonders for you as it does most humans, and will help fortify you if anything else, no matter the news we receive tonight.” I took my own bite, and suppressed a wince at the temperature.

That too, brought my mirth to his eyes. He said nothing more for the duration of the meal, but the quiet between us was no longer tense, instead companionable once more until Lestrade finally arrived with the news of the heiress’s successful rescue. That tale however, I will leave for another day, if only to recount the triumph leaking back into my love’s posture, as he looked at me with victory fresh upon his face now that our vigil was complete.


	10. a hearty defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt: holmes comforting watson + rugby watson_

My friend did not look up from his chemical experiment once in the time since I returned that afternoon to our rooms, not when I stomped up the stairs, not pulled the door shut with a audible slam, nor even when I huffed loudly upon removing my coat and finally took a seat on the settee. Only when I did not halt my long stare at his back did he sigh and look up from whatever it was that had held his attention for so long.

“I take it your team lost then, old boy?”

I groaned at once, snarling, “It went abominably.”

At my harsh tone, he finally turned to face me, the test tube still in his hand. “You have incurred losses before, and these games are friendly and usually not too competitive.” His expression turned inquisitive, “You were behind the loss, then.”

I snorted peevishly, unable to muster any admiration for his deduction. “I was, unfortunately. Actually, I don’t feel up to speaking about it just yet, Holmes, if you don’t mind.”

“Alri-”

“It was my blasted leg! I was in position to make the critical move, not once but  _ twice _ , when my leg failed me. I have not played this regularly since my university days, and back then I did not have to overexert myself regularly to cope with my injury. My inflexibility is what cost us this game, and while no one dared say anything, I could feel it on all their minds as we shook hands in the end.”

“Did they say as much?”

“No, never. But when I asked Thurston his answer was noncommittal. He was trying to be kind, and yet he showed his hand in his hesitation.”

“Hmmm,” Holmes hummed. “Are you in any pain now?”

“No.” A second later, I stumbled to the truth, “ _ Yes _ . The only reason the game wasn’t a total loss was that at the last I made the move regardless of the pain my leg, and that twist had been a resultant ache since. It does not pain me nearly enough as my pride stings, however.”

Holmes made a clucking noise, akin to sympathy, before rising from his experiment and joining me on the settee, sitting very closely to me indeed. “This would not have happened had you heeded my advice this morning.”

“What!” said I, astonished that despite his behavior he was not being more commiserative.

He shook his head, even as he placed a hand on mine where it lay on my war wound. “I knew this would happen, and told you as much this morning as you changed into your rugby outfit. It has been raining the past four days, and despite the sun finally arriving on the day of your match, the cold still had seeped into old injury. This always leaves you in some lasting pain, tiring you after even a stroll to the parks let alone a participating in a thrashing clash of men for two hours. I said as much, my dear.”

My mouth was agape. “I come to you, in this moment of pity and low-spirit, and all you can offer me is  _ I said as much, my dear _ !”

“Watson,” he said, not raising his voice as I did but merely placing his hand fully on my thigh, “I do offer my greatest sympathies. I know this is a point of contention for you.”

“It is, Holmes!” said I, regardless of his intentions, and newly-hooded eyes. “My pride has been thoroughly thrashed.”

“I can think of something, no, some _ one _ else that deserves to get thoroughly thrashed.”

“Holmes!”

“What!” he exclaimed, mimicking my earlier cry, before he sobered and removed his hand, moving it to cradle my cheek. “I am sorry you felt that way today, my dear. It can be dispiriting, having to confront one’s own limitations, and I am sorry that you had to do so in such a revealing way this morning. You are not infallible, my dear, but you are also so much more than your weakness, and continually the most solid and dependable man of my acquaintance. Your qualities are not in anyway damaged by your injuries, and in fact it strengthens my notion that you are above all else, my resilient John Watson.”

I kissed him then, because there was nothing else to it. Some time later when I did pull back, it was with a smile. “That was a much better attempt at sympathy.”

Holmes grinned, his every feature smug, “Yes, I thought so too. Now, let us either make use of your sportsclothes, or leave them in the care of Mrs. Hudson. You smell, dear heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clarify, with regards to watson's injury bc i dont wanna pull a bbc and act like he never had an injury in the first place or whatever - i place this story anywhere between 1885-1897, so watson is young enough and has made enough of a recovery in his injury that while it does occasionally, he has healed enough in both body and spirit to not disparage himself too much for that loss. and well if he starts to, thats what holmes is there for.
> 
> also i know fuck all abt rugby.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway the title is from _that_ quote from the dancing men. im [drwctson](https://drwctson.tumblr.com/) on tumblr (and twitter) so come say hi if u liked this !! if u didnt u can still come say hi i guess  
> 


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